A New Star Fallen
by Subtle Shenanigans
Summary: Four toms; a medicine cat who cannot speak with Starclan, a future Leader and his Deputy, and a cat who wants nothing more to be a Warrior are instrumental in the events leading to all three Clans' demise - and just maybe, salvation. / Abandoned story from Warriors Amino. I was on there a year okay that's a ton of my crap to cross post. Line breaks disapeared, sorry. UNBETA'D. OC
1. Character list

**A/N: Chaotic character list.**

This is the character list for ANSF; there are three clans. They live in an area with lots of Cherry trees near the stream bank. Slateclan is a little upriver, living where the stream bubbles from under a haphazard area of bluish-grey Rock slabs, and birds wheel in the air there. Looking towards Slateclan, on your left would be Bankclan, which rises a little uphill from the stream, and it is muddier with sparse plants, mostly low-growing patches. On the right side of the stream is Meadowclan, where the trees surround an open patch of land with longish grasses and plants.

*MORE CHARACTERS TO BE ADDED*

BANKCLAN (Hunts fish and burrowing animals.)

L: Driftstar(mist) - chocolate brown medium furred tom with gray eyes

D: Mudshade - Brown tom with dark markings (almost black) and amber-green eyes.

MC: Marshwisp - guant, ancient white tom with peculiar soft gray markings and murky, moss-slime green eyes. Developing cataracts.

MCa: Dustpaw - white tom with brown head-to-tail stripe and wide, green eyes.

 **WarriorS**

Troutstrike - large blue-gray tom with green eyes. Oldest warrior.

Robinsnow - reddish brown she-cat with white undersides and bright yellow-green eyes.

Willowleaves - graceful gray she-cat with long, whispy fur. Finchfrost and Reedfang's mother.

Barkstripe - lighter brown tabby tom with amber eyes; Swallowfall's only real friend.

Swallowfall - black and white tom, right eye black spot; right eye sky-blue left eye yellow-green. Generally silent.

Reedfang - long, ragged furred gray tom with yellow eyes.

a: Heatherpaw - gray tom with darker stripes and olive eyes.

Pikeshadow - Gray tom with darker ticked tabby markings and dark green eyes. Mousespots' mate.

Frostwhisker - Black she-cat with white undersides and dark blue eyes.

a: Volepaw - Brown and white short-furred she-cat with yellow-eyes.

 **QueenS**

Mousespots - Brown she-cat with darker spots, ear tips, and tail rings; brown eyes. (KITS: Stormkit - gray tom with darker blue markings and light blue eyes; Sunkit - White tom with two-toned golden back fur and markings, and dark blue eyes.)

Finchfrost - young Calico she-cat with amber eyes.

 **ElderS**

Rustfur - reddish brown she-cat with yellow eyes; going blind.

* * *

MEADOWCLAN (Hunts rabbits mostly and some fish.)

L: Brownstar(deer) - dark brown, spotted tom with yellow eyes.

D: Flutteringbreeze - Black she-cat with yellow-amber eyes

MC: Sparrowheart - Thick-furred dark brown (almost black) tom with blue eyes.

 **WarriorS**

Fawnfeather - long-furred pale dusty brown she-cat with blue eyes.

a: Pebblepaw - muddy colored tom with pale blue eyes.

Goatfur - Wiry furred, pale gray, grumpy tom with pale green eyes.

Dawnfrost - Cream-colored she-cat with short fur and blue eyes. White fore-toes and tail-tip.

a: Poppypaw - orangey tabby tom with amber eyes.

Smokestream - long-furred gray-white tom with dark stripes. Amber-yellow eyes.

Vixenbud - orange (solid) she-cat with white muzzle and chest, light green eyes, and thicker fur on face, chest, and shoulders.

Grasswing - White she-cat with blue-gray (appears green) markings. Green eyes.

 **QueenS**

Ebonyflower - Black she-cat with a white jaw and underside of tail; green eyes. Goatfur's daughter. (KITS: Grasskit - wiry furred dark gray tom with gray eyes; Littlekit - Golden she-kit with dark blue, almost indigo-purple, eyes who wants to train as a medicine cat.)

Duskgleam - dusty brownish she-cat with yellow eyes. (KIT: Fireflykit/Shimmerkit - Brown she-kit with lighter colored stripes and red-amber eyes.)

* * *

SLATECLAN (A little further upstream; they hunt primarily birds and ground squirrels, but will eat fish. Fairly prestigious clan.)

L: Swiftstar(hawk) - solid gray tom with brown eyes

D: Stormbreeze - dark gray almost black tom with brown eyes; Graycloud's brother.

MC: Graycloud - solid gray she-cat with medium-length fur and dark gray-blue eyes.

 **WarriorS**

Mothfrost - Gray tabby she-cat with thick, swirling stripes (classic tabby) and Amber eyes. Oldest Warrior.

Weaselstripe - light brownish tabby and white tom with yellow eyes.

Frostfall - white tom with pale, icy blue eyes and black whiskers. Formerly Weaselstripe's apprentice.

Featherstrike - Silvery and white cat (solid) with brown-Amber eyes; will be moving to the nursery soon.

a: Stonepaw - darkish Gray tabby tom with green eyes and slightly lighter undersides/toes/muzzle.

Cherryfoot - Brown she-cat with dark brown-reddish paws and blue eyes.

a: Kitepaw - brown and white tom with yellow eyes.

 **QueenS**

Featherear (Curlfeather?) - Soft grayish-brown tabby she-cat with long fur and fluffy ears curling out. Gray eyes. (KIT: Quickkit - brown and white tom with green-blue eyes.)

 **ElderS**

Eaglesong - large brown tom with white undersides and yellow eyes.

Cinderfall - orange tabby she-cat with dark gray eyes.

* * *

CATS OUTSIDE THE CLANS

Thomas mall - Solid ginger tom with white undersides/muzzle/socks and orange-amber eyes. Loner.

Thistle - Soft pale brown (solid) tom with white underbelly/muzzle and dark blue eyes. Lives as a barncat.

Johnson - young (solid) brown tom with white under markings, yellow eyes.

Clarice - older pale colored calico with soft green eyes. Johnson's mother's sister.


	2. Prologue through Chapter 5

**A/N: So this was a fic I had on Amino that I am discontinuing.**

 **Link to the favourite for additional info: http : (slashslash) (slash) page (slash) warriors (slash) 2171808 (slash) ansf (dash) a (dash) new (dash) star (dash) fallen (dash) hiatus**

 **DISCLAIMER:** **Warriors series belongs to Erin Hunter, OCs to me.**

 **((Amino Author's Note:** This is a fic about the OCs I've adopted. It will be a flash fic - meaning, not in-depth and will fast forward a lot. It's more of an idea where I could expound on it if I choose. This is going to be hard without the option to italicize.

EDITED ON March 11, 2017 Saturday **.))**

* * *

-/-

 **Prologue**

Snow began to pitter out, if only slightly. In the entrance of a rock-cave - going slightly into the ground - sat a white cat with a long brown spinestripe. He had his tail tucked over his paws, and looked with wide eyes into the blizzard.

"Will it always be like this?" He called, seemingly into the storm. Behind him, a ragged almost white shape got up to his forepaws, seemingly with great effort. He had unappealing green eyes, the color of slime from moss. There were full, clouded moons in each of them - the apprentice feared the older cat would die before he got his full name.

A dry, rasping chuckle. "Oh Dustpaw," chortling grew, then dimmed to coughing. After he regained his breath, he gave a rusty purr. "Of course not. You're only, what, eight moons? But even then, you know that the snow will give way to rain, and that in turn to the hot bloom, then to the breezes that'll rattle the cherry blossoms from their perch. Leaf-bare is here, Leaf-bare goes, Leaf-bare returns. This is a bad storm, true, but it will pass." He blinked slowly at his apprentice, comfortingly, then settled his old paws down once again.

His forelegs had just followed his paws, when Dustpaw turned to him with his wide, jade eyes. "But how do we know this isn't a sign, Marshwisp?"

Marshwisp grunted. "You just know. Starclan doesn't change the weather to this magnitude - and usually there'll be a voice, or a starry shape will guide you." His voice dropped, until it was only as loud as the rasp of leaves skittering the ground. "...Unless they've finally spoken to you?"

A single, soft nod, his eyes closing halfway slowly, then shutting as he gave a tiny sigh.

Marshwisp was sympathetic. "Give it time, little one. You heard them at your ceremony, right?"

Dustpaw held back a sarcastic snort; he HAD heard them. A whispering assembly, like a susurrus rising in crescendo. Then silence slamming with darkness. He floated in a void of nothing, then woke up.

And ever since then, he only saw dark, and heard nothing but absolute silence.

Marshwisp set his head down, to sleep, but opened his eyes and stared at Dustpaw when the apprentice turned back to the blizzard.

Dustpaw stared into the white abyss, standing tall and determined; he would get a sign, he felt, and soon.

And he just knew it would be important.

 **END**

-/-

* * *

 **THE FIRST CHAPTER**

To say the clans were unprepared for a snowstorm of this magnitude would be a gross understatement.

The clouds had rolled in from the south, which had been strange enough, and seemed to camp there, like a cat hulking over the water for a gleaming fish.

The storm would last for nine sunsets, though it was hard to tell the day from night.

Mousespots was normally an optimistic she-cat. But even these circumstances scared her, and the ever present question of 'will this end?' echoed in her mind like the chatter of starlings.

A snore broke her from her thoughts, and she swiveled her head towards her denmate, Finchfrost. The calico queen was halfway through her pregnancy, and Mousespots didn't understand how she slept so soundly through such weather.

Her eyes flickered down to her own worries; her two kits would be apprenticed when Newleaf came, as long as they survived this weather. Stormkit was well-built, with a sturdy frame and his brother, Sunkit, was lithe and rambunctious. She felt she should have more trust, but, a mother couldn't help but worry. Especially when Sunkit felt so warm beneath her paws...

She saw a white shadow pass by in the blizzard, and she gave a low, sharp cry. The figure stopped, ears twitching, then came into the den.

It was Swallowfall, the black and white odd-eyes tom. He came in silently, quiet for awhile. He was a very quiet cat, not given much to talking.

"Would you mind stopping by the medicine den and asking either Marshwisp or Dustpaw to come by? Sunkit's feeling oddly warm."

There was kindness in his eyes. He dipped his head and meowed velvetly, "of course."

He disappeared back into the white screen, Mousespots settling back around her kits and letting a little sigh of relief out.

Swallowfall left his message with the two medicine cats. Marshwisp tested Dustpaw on which herbs to bring, and getting approval, he gathered what he needed.

Dustpaw had watched Swallowfall recede into the snow. He liked the tom - he was efficient and honest. Although he was quiet, he gave his opinion when it mattered and stuck by what he believed was true.

He remembered a conversation he had with Marshwisp, just after he became his apprentice, almost three moons ago.

-FLASHBACK (since I can't do italics ;-;) -

'...and yarrow is good for bleeding.'

'Hey Marshwisp,' Dustpaw interrupted. 'What did Reedfang mean when he called Swallowfall a ... Uh, half-breed, erm...'

'A half-breed mongrel mutt?' Marshwisp asked, still sorting the herbs in front of him.

'Yeah.' Dustpaw shuffled his paws, glancing towards the ground. 'That was really mean and uncalled for. What I was wondering was... what does half-clan mean? And is he really half-clan?'

Marshwisp sighed, and Dustpaw glanced up at him, though the older tom didn't meet his eyes. 'Half-clan is when two cats from different clans have kits, then the kits have the blood of both clans - half-clan, you see?' Dustpaw nodded but his mentor continued on without seeing. 'There was a she-cat from Meadowclan, who gave birth to a single kit. Her name was Deersong. After her kit was born, she couldn't stop bleeding, and slowly died. But before she died, she told her brother that the kit's father was from our clan, and she wished him to be brought here. She died, and then her brother, who was deputy, brought the kit here. He wanted to keep his kin, but it was his sister's wish. So he brought the kit here, one day in Greenleaf, when the cherry blossoms were falling in abundance. He left the kit, saying, "This is Swallowkit, my sister's kit, and one of your cat's kits. Take care of him." Then he left without a word. And he grew, and trained, and is a loyal warrior.'

He then turned his murky eyes towards Dustpaw.

'And that's obviously Swallowfall,' he replied.

His mentor nodded once, then turned back to the herbs.

Dustpaw wasn't finished though. 'But who was his father?'

'No one in the clan knows.' He said. But then he stopped suddenly, and the older cat's shoulders slumped. He looked at Dustpaw, capturing his gaze.

'Except for one last, living, silly old cat.'

Dustpaw pricked his ears. 'Who?'

Marshwisp leaned close, and said in a confidential whisper, 'Me.'

Dustpaw blinked. 'You?'

Marshwisp sat back up and worked as he spoke. 'But I won't be around forever and someone needs to know. Swallowfall may ask someday, so I'm going to trust you with this secret, okay Dustpaw.'

Another wide, green-eyes blink. 'Me?'

Marshwisp nodded. 'Yes, you. Now, I had a brother - a much older brother - who coincidentally was my former mentor. He was Swallowfall's father.'

'Really?'

'It's much harder to figure out the father than the mother.'

'Oh.'

'Now, of that answers your questions, this is tansy, and we use it for...'

-END FLASHBACK-

Dustpaw gave Sunkit the herbs, and his fever cleared a few days later. Then, five more days passed, and the snow finally ended. Later, when the camp was shrouded in white, but cats could walk around without freezing to death, they held an apprentice ceremony for Heatherkit - now Heatherpaw. Reedfang was to be his mentor. Clan life seemed to be entering its own personal Newleaf.

That evening, Sunkits fevered came back worse.

And when the moon reached its zenith that night, Dustpaw received his first, and only message from Starclan.

 **END**

-/-

* * *

 **THE SECOND CHAPTER**

Heatherkit could barely contain his excitement; at last - he would train to become a warrior! He glanced around with gleaming eyes, wondering which cat was to be his mentor. Bankclan had the tradition of the mentors staying in the crowd with their clan mates until called upon. He wondered if the other clans did the same. Then his mind turned back to the matter of 'who' it would be.

He saw reddish brown fur with a flash of white from the corner of his eye. He turned to see a pretty she-cat, who blinked slowly with yellow-green eyes encouragingly. Perhaps Robinsnow would be his mentor? But she gave no hint of it. Hmm. He glanced at a strong gray tom with much darker tabby markings. Pikeshadow! He was an incredibly brave cat. But he could tell by the twitch of the tom's tail that he was impatient, but not in the 'I can't wait to get my apprentice' way. Heatherkit thunked his tail. Pikeshadow was probably just worrying about Sunkit. He looked around again, for any other candidates, but was interrupted when Driftstar yowled from his perch on the Boulder.

"Cats of Bankclan! Today we hold a ceremony that commemorates a kit is of age to be apprenticed!"

A yowl of approval rang out.

'Fernskip,' he muttered silently. 'I hope you're proud.'

'And whichever one of you are my father, I hope you are too. You stupid son of -'

Driftstar leapt nimbly off of the Boulder, then beckoned Heatherkit forward with a twitch of his tail. Finchfrost (who had taken him when Fernskip had died two moons ago) nudged him forward gently. He purred briefly, then bound over on light paws.

"Reedfang," the dark brown leader called. A ragged, long-furred gray tom cantered forward. "You are a strong-minded and stable-pawed cat. I hope you pass on your strongest skills to Heatherpaw."

Heatherpaw!

He darted forward, tail-streaming, and touched his nose to his new mentor's. He was a little surprised it was Reedfang, but not disappointed. Reedfang was a loyal warrior, after all.

"Heatherpaw! Heatherpaw! Heatherpaw! Heatherpaw!"

A pure rose loudly in his throat as the clan chanted around him, loud as a gale.

Sunkit's fur rippled in delight. An apprentice ceremony! He wiggled around, happily, nudging his brother Stormkit. Soon they'd be apprentices too!

Stormkit nudged him back heftily, and Sunkit tried not to fall over. He gave a mock growl, knocking against his brother once more. But the gray tom was not to be moved.

For some reason the weakness Sunkit had felt with his fever clung. It wasn't as bad as when he HAD the fever, but had felt much . . . heavier the last few hours. It clung to his body, slowing his movements and threatening to drag him. But he felt better, so he was, wasn't he? He continued to play with his brother, confidence running through him. He was better - he had to be. Because his fever was gone. It was just some lingering aftereffects, wasn't it?

"SUNKIT!" A cat screeched.

About an hour and a half before his namesake fell, Sunkit collapsed.

His fever had returned.

Dustpaw finally chewed the last bit to pulp, brushing a tail over Sunkit's flank. He spat the pulp onto a lead and wrapped it, so it could be administered later. He sighed quietly.

"Well?" Mousespots croaked.

He glanced at her, his usually wide eyes half-drooped with fatigue and worry. She didn't look much better; fur ragged and unkempt, though it had only been a few hours since Sunkit had relapsed. Stormkit lay curled next to her, having fallen asleep after the long ordeal. Poor mite had felt that it was his fault, by playing too hard. Dustpaw had explained to him that it wasn't; that sickness had a way of lingering and returning, especially to cats already ill once.

He snapped out of his thoughts, saying in a voice dragged by exhaustion, "It seems to be the same sickness. I can't isolate what's causing it though - he has a fever, chills, spasms, weakness... but the things I'd usually use to cure those symptoms aren't working, only alleviating some of them. We just need to keep him fed, watered, and continue administering herbs." He swished his tail as he stood, growling, "it may go away on its own. I just don't understand why it's not working! I know these are the right herbs, but it's like his body isn't really accepting them! Rreaughhhh!"

He swiped at the ground, ears almost completely flat. He saw Mousespots flinch from the corner of his vision, and he instantly loosened up, ears rising a little.

"Sorry. I'm just frustrated. I'm sure he'll be fine - it's just that he has to fight his own battle now, and ... that's a little hard for a medicine cat to take."

"Don't worry Mousespots; you can trust Dustpaw," Finchfrost said, smiling warmly at him. The queen had stayed up for once, feeling the need to support Mousespots. Dustpaw hoped she'd get some rest tonight - the queen was still heavily pregnant. "Sunkit is strong, just like you. He'll survive. Let's all just try to get some rest now. Goodnight Dustpaw."

"Thank you, Dustpaw - goodnight."

Dustpaw dipped his head. "Goodnight ladies."

He hurried to the refuge of the medicine den, seeing Marshwisp was already asleep. He stretched, then curled up next to his mentor to sleep.

For the first time in his life, Dustpaw didn't dream of a silent void.

The vista was made up of swaths of blue, mostly dark hues and a few 'lighter' shades, the color some of the faraway stars appeared to be. The darkest shade was almost black.

There was, though, this odd texture to everything. It was like wisps of see-through white - like clouds - but in the shape of cracks in a frozen stream, but more uniform. It was scattered across his vision randomly but not like it was on his eyes. It was like ... like ...

Like a barrier of sorts; a drifting wall of mist.

Dustpaw snatched his gaze from where he was looking, turning forward and slightly left. A cat was walking (ever so slightly descending) his fur was more translucent then the strange barrier(s), more like colored water than anything. He was a large tom, far larger than any Dustpaw knew, with what appears to be ... faded brown fur? His pelt was covered in starfrost like mist.

When he looked up to meet the cat's gaze, he openly gasped.

In place of the colors and pupils of the eyes, it was a solid, opaque white.

The tom (the thought came to him, suddenly, for it obviously was) opened his mouth, the words tumbling forth hurried but strung together smoothly.

'When the sun is weak, a storm shall rise, and soon a star shall fall - with another to take its place. Silence is strength, and dark is peace. Do not fear the dark little one.'

Suddenly a noise fell through, like a thousand crows cawing in cacophony. Something like claw shreds ripped through the world around him, and the Starclan cat watched him with worry. He turned to leave.

"Wait!" Dustpaw shouted above the distortion. "What's your name? Please!"

The starry tom looked back once, indecision crossing his face. He shook his head, and yowled back, "I am Moleheart. Remember Dustpaw: Do not fear the dark!"

And then the tom was bounding away, and everything was ripped from before him, until Dustpaw fell . . . fell . . . fell.

And all was dark and silent once more.

 **END ((A/N: Received a special tag on this chapter))**

-/-

* * *

 **The Third Chapter**

Dustpaw bolted up, moss flying from beneath him, panting and heart racing.

His muzzle twitched and his ears perked up. His first dream! And one from Starclan, no less!

He had to tell Marshwisp - it was a very important message, after all. And he was only an apprentice.

But when he stepped out of his nest, he immediately saw Marshwisp was already sitting up, wide awake, staring at Dustpaw with an unreadable expression. He ignored the narrowed eyes and skipped up to his mentor, albeit a little timidly. "Marshwisp! You won't believe it! I finally had a-"

"A dream," he cut Dustpaw off, his tone dark. Dustpaw stiffened, feeling as though he had done something wrong.

"Y-yes. And I received a message from Starclan!" His excitement returned. "It started when I woke up-"

"Stop!" His mentor leapt up, fur sticking out and ears flat. His eyes were wide, panicked, his tail curling up beneath him. Dustpaw took a step back, crouching lower to the ground. His mentor's snarl had scared him.

There was a tense moment, the only sound being Marshwisp's labored breathing and Dustpaw's heart beating in his own ears. Eventually Marshwisp relaxed, muscles loosening, though he stayed standing. His ears lifted a little too.

"I'm sorry, young one," he rasped softly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Come here." He sat and tapped the floor next to him.

Dustpaw slunk over, sitting down a little bit away, and hunched down slightly. His eyes looked large and sad.

Marshwisp drew him closer with his tail and leaned towards him in a comforting gesture. He gave a hefty sigh.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He stared at the wall in front of them, while Dustpaw looked up to him. "You see, I too had a dream - and in that dream they told me that I was not allowed to hear about your dream - that no one is to hear about your dream. The prophecy is for you alone."

He looked down to Dustpaw and caught his gaze like a steal trap. Marshwisp's eyes shone. "Do you understand, Dustpaw? This prophecy is for you to carry - for you alone." His voice hitched, and he looked to the floor. "I'm so sorry you must keep such a burden." His voice fell quieter, almost too quiet for him to hear. "That you must keep so many burdens alone."

Dustpaw leaned into his mentor, suddenly, eyes closed. Marshwisp was shocked, but just as soon drew the apprentice under his chest, leaning his head on top of Dustpaw's.

I wish, if life were different, you wouldn't have to carry such a weight - that I could be your father and care for you as my son; as a kit. But we, as medicine cats, are under the mercy of Starclan, and this is not to be.

He sighed at the thought. Closing his eyes tightly as another came, like a piercing thorn to his heart.

I'm so sorry.

"What do you mean he shouldn't be apprenticed?!"

The voice rang out, a snarl across his usually docile features.

Reedfang seemed taken aback, and glanced to Driftstar. Driftstar just kept staring at Swallowfall, who stood there quivering with rage.

"W-well," Reedfang said, then composing himself, bolder, "He's too sick! Stormkit will be apprenticed in less than two moons, and Sunkit isn't getting any better! I'm just saying it would be more beneficial to move him to the medicine den permanently!"

"You mean more beneficial for you," Swallowfall spat back, ignoring Barkstripe's tail draping calmingly on his back. His black and white tail lashed. "You just don't want the clans to think we're weak because we have a late apprentice - but that's not fair to Sunkit or our clan!"

Reedfang opened and closed his mouth, too indignant to find words to launch back. Before he could speak, though, Driftstar cut in calmly, "Who, then, will train Sunkit? He'll need a patient mentor - he will take moons longer to train."

Swallowfall was huffing. "W-who...? T-then ... I..." He took a shuddering gulp. "I will train Sunkit!"

Barkstripe's eyes widened. Swallowfall always avoided gaining an apprentice. Actually, Driftstar had asked him if he would be interested in training Heatherpaw, but he had declined, unbeknownst to the rest of the clan. In fact, he had even suggested Reedfang would be better suited to the job, though only he and Driftstar knew.

Reedfang had started to protest, but Driftstar ignored him, staring intensely at Swallowfall, who was still shaking. "It's done. When Sunkit becomes well enough Swallowfall will take charge in training him. Reedfang," he looked to the gray tom as he addressed him. "Resume to your duties - I believe Mudshade assigned you to a hunting patrol." Reedfang left with a twitch and a huff, calling angrily for Heatherpaw to follow. The apprentice followed happily, used to the tom's moodiness.

When they had gone, Driftstar dipped his head to Swallowfall and Barkstripe. "Have a pleasant day you two." He then turned and left.

It was silent for a time, then Barkstripe nuzzled his best friend. "I'm proud of you; I know you can do this."

Swallowfall leaned into him but kept silent, his doubts melting until they were small, faded voices disappearing in the wind.

That night, in the void where Dustpaw stood, he saw a gold star fall, and disappear in the nothingness, the brief illuminessence leaving him shadowed and breathless, if only for a moment.

In the nursery a kit dreamed of a golden warmth descending upon their heart, and they twitched their tail and purred, the dream to be forgotten in the morning.

 **END CHAPTER**

-/-

* * *

 _*WARNING*: There is mention of death, and prejudice against half-clan cats.))_

 **The Fourth Chapter**

Six sunrises passed in quick succession; Sunkit barely getting better only to succumb to his sickness yet again. He was too weak when conscious, but if he could, he'd describe the numbness that encompassed his mind in those dark moments of 'sleep', pressing and lasting longer and longer. His vision was beginning to become affected, though only a bit.

Dustpaw's tail dragged behind him, forlornly and wearily, as he paced around the medicine den, lost in thought and lost to his original task. Worry weighed upon his mind like heavy storm clouds.

Marshwisp had gotten more frail, tending to sleep a lot, and his eyes didn't focus on anything anymore. Age was rapidly attacking his body with a sudden ferocity, so much so that he didn't have much energy for anything. All he could see was the blurriest tableau of faded color, and taste and smell left nothing but the sense of stale dust. His hearing stayed impeccable, though.

Despite these few (yet great) tragedies, the clan was doing quite well. Prey was flowing back, the chill had begun to dissipate, and Finchfrost would soon have her kits.

That thought finally jarred Dustpaw out of his fog. He shook his head sharply, smacking his ears uncomfortably. He needed to get herbs prepared for Finchfrost and the arriving kits. Anything could go wrong, and this was his first kitting alone.

He quickly began to shuffle through their herb stores, taking out particular ones and setting them aside. "Raspberry and borage, we'll keep some tansy in case she develops a cough after - that's what happened to Fernskip, then some..."

His voice faltered after remembering Fernskip, Heatherpaw's mother. He had just become a new apprentice maybe three weeks before, and as such hadn't been there to help. From what he was told, though, was that she had had a hard time, and had been very ill after.

What Marshwisp had told him, with the only other cat being Driftstar who knew, was that there had been a second kit, too small and mangled to ever take a breath.

(He wondered why Marshwisp felt he could leave such secrets with him.)

(... and if it was worth it for Dustpaw to know such things.)

Fernskip had actually gotten better quickly. So it had been a shock to the whole clan when one day they found her dead, he heart having just given up completely.

Dustpaw noticed his vision blurring so he roughly shook his head, thrusting himself back into reality. He began earnestly getting the herbs set together, muttering as he did so.

" . . . and poppy seeds, just in case."

Reedfang prowled out of camp, with Heatherpaw trailing behind, a little less confident and a little more unsure than he usually was. Reedfang felt concern for his apprentice for a moment but let it pass; a little battle training would do him some good.

He'd had another . . . altercation of sorts with Swallowfall again.

Reedfang was a thoroughbred cat, and as such had high ideals for pure-bloodedness and loyalty. It could probably be traced to stemming back to his great-great-great-grandfather's betrayal when he left Bankclan to be with some wild-hills-She-cat, and then finding out that he had (very) distant cousins from that line in Slateclan. So yes, he was a bit prejudiced in that regard. Not that he would let these feelings loose and disobey his leader. Because loyalty to the clan came before everything - even blood.

He did have a begrudging part of him that respected the half-blood tom-cat, for his devotion and loyalty. But far be it for him to actually LIKE the cat.

Swallowfall was actually pretty easy to deal with: if Reedfang jabbed with words, Swallowfall usually ignored him. The black-and-white tom wasn't given with lashing back to anyone - and if he did it was never near as scathing. He didn't get involved in others' affairs, he obeyed his higher-ups (though only Barkstripe was aware of the fact that he had argued with Marshwisp on more than one occasion about taking certain herbs when he was sick.) Heck the only cat he really hung around was Barkstripe. And Reedfang wasn't a fan of Barkstripe.

It was odd, though, how upset Swallowfall seemed to be. Ever since their argument about Sunkit's apprenticeship, Swallowfall had barely spoken a word to anyone. He merely glowered and lashed his tail whenever he saw Reedfang. He was sure that he had spoken to Barkstripe, but not in camp that he'd heard, anyways. When they had been in the same hunting patrol that morning, Swallowfall had a stiff demeanor, giving a jerky nod when Pikeshadow asked him to go after a squirrel or help with a vole. He had actually gotten really frustrated and tore at the bank when he missed a water rat, hissing venomously at Reedfang when he had tried to make a teasing comment. It puzzled him, really.

But pissed him off more than anything.

Heatherpaw padded after his mentor, almost unsure. Reedfang was particularly hissy about something, and it rubbed Heatherpaw's fur the wrong way.

They eventually made it a little ways from camp, to an area with thin, sparse grass and soft dirt. It was a patch that mentors typically brought their apprentices to train battle moves; it was in the opposite direction of the river.

"Okay," Reedfang's rough voice broke him out of his thoughts. The gray tom turned to face him fully, eyes alight with authority. "Today we're going to start with some basic defensive moves; defense is almost always better than offense. Can you tell me why?"

Heatherpaw had nodded in agreement, then the question caught him off guard. He took a minute to think it over, tilting his head to the right and looking to the sky in thought. "Would it be because as long as you defend yourself good, then you can maybe get a blow or two in even if you aren't fully trained to fight?"

"Well," he corrected him. "As long as you defend yourself well. And yes, essentially." He paused, flicking an ear as he gathered his thoughts. He seemed to dispel them just as quickly, though, and simply said, "We're going to start with some improvisation and then I'll give you pointers from there. I'm going to attack you now, and I want you to defend yourself. And for Starclan's sake, keep your claws sheathed!"

(It wasn't uncommon for apprentices starting out to accidentally use their claws - it was instinct, after all - and it took time and much drilling for cats to get used to keeping their claws sheathed with training, but unsheathing them in battle.)

He met his mentor's yellow eyes and nodded once, preparing himself.

But he wasn't prepared enough when Reedfang bound forward, bowling him over. He stopped to let Heatherpaw up, stating, "When you see me preparing to move you need to try and dodge; reassess the situation. Let's try again."

Heatherpaw steadied himself, then nodded.

He would get this right.

It was definitely more than twenty tries later when he managed to leap completely out of the way without being ran into or clipped and bowled over. But then Reedfang had spun around faster than he thought possible and flipped him over. Somehow.

He lay panting on the ground, and feeling bruised, as Reedfang nodded almost seeming . . . pleased?

"Hmm fairly well," his mentor mused. "In time you'll come along nicely." Then, louder, "You can rest up for a few and then we'll go again."

Attitude-wise, it was times like these that Reedfang seemed like a normal cat.

But then he said things like that.

After the pertaining silence (only broken by Heatherpaw's gasping) Reedfang stood up fluidly.

"Okay, let's go again. This time try-"

"Reedfang! Reedfang!" A large, blue-gray tom named Troutstrike came running up, his eyes wide. His mouth was agape and he was breathing harshly. "It's Finchfrost! She's kitting!"

"What?!"

Heatherpaw was knocked aside once more as Reedfang rushed past him, his mentor's screech still ringing in his ears.

Heatherpaw scrambled to his paws and rushed to catch up, filled with his mentor's worry.

Finchfrost was Reedfang's sister after all.

 **END**

-/-

* * *

 **The Fifth Chapter**

Dustpaw was in hell.

Marshwisp had caught a fever and wasn't making much sense, his words muttered and unintelligible in his delirium.

And then when he had gone to check on Sunkit, Finchfrost had started kitting.

He'd had to rush back to the medicine den to get the herbs he'd prepared ahead of time, only to find that mold had somehow got into it and he'd had to take a fresh stock out of his stores that were already running low because he couldn't. leave. camp.

Luckily Swallowfall was keeping others out of the nursery, and his partner in crime, Barkstripe, had asked Troutstrike to go fetch Reedfang while he himself went to go find a stick for the queen to bite when the time came.

So it was a stressful situation.

Finchfrost felt overheated, but not in the way that would suggest fever. He put a paw gently on her stomach only to feel it convulse (he could hear her gritting her teeth.)

"Okay Finch," Dustpaw said, shortening her name in a soothing manner he usually did when dealing with cats in great discomfort or pain. He took the stick Barkstripe had brought and pushed it towards her muzzle. "First of all, grip this in your jaws. When the kits start coming out I want you to bite it, okay?"

Her eyes flashed fearfully as she took the stick, but she went ahead and nodded once.

"Mousespots, I need you to keep your kits out of the way, maybe take them out for a bit? No, never mind; Sunkit isn't up to it. Umm, I guess just stay back there for the moment okay? Now Finchfrost, I need you to keep calm. I know it hurts and. . ."

Time went by, his words mumbled encouragement as he kept watch over her during her kitting. At one point Reedfang had burst in, Swallowfall behind him giving Dustpaw an affirmative nod. Reedfang stayed by his sister, cursing the father of her kits for not being there and soothing her when he could.

Finally, after the sun had gone to rest and the stars came out, so too the last kit was born.

It wouldn't be until early morning and after Dustpaw had diligently tended to Finchfrost and her new kits that he'd go to his den to rest.

And he'd be welcomed by Marshwisp's corpse, his mentor's body cold and long dead.

 **END**


	3. Side Stories

**A/N: Here's a hodgepodge of the Side Stories. Swallowfall is named after the bird and has traits based off of my Asperger's Syndrome.**

 **Eh this is a mess.**

 **Edit: I JUST REALIZED ALL MY LINE BREAKS ARE GONE; _screw that._**

(( Amino A/N: This will be the first in a set of side stories about various cats in my main fic, A New Star Fallen. I have chosen the first to be about Swallowfall, from altering point of views, but especially Barkstripe's and a cat who will be revealed in the end.))

* * *

 **001: Odd**

You are the current (recently named) leader of Bankclan. There is a kit at your paws (they're taking him to the nursery now) and the deputy of Meadowclan just told you he is a half-clan kit (you believe him, of course). So now you have a mixed blood kit who's going to have a hard time of it, someone in your clan broke the code, and you can't fathom 'who'.

And now you don't know what to do.

Swallowkit was an odd kit, to say the least.

It wasn't his different colored eyes (some were even envious of that, because that didn't happen often, and he has blue AND green, lucky furball) and it wasn't even the fact that he would have the wiry, low build of Meadowclan as well as the prowess and quickness of a Bankclan cat. No, these weren't the things that were odd.

He didn't speak.

Swallowkit wasn't mute, or deaf. He obviously heard things, and he had actually mewed words before, like Rustfur's name (she was a very old she-cat, whose kits had just been apprenticed, so she took Swallowkit in). He'd said he was hungry, or thirsty, or when he desired to be in the sun.

But he didn't try to make conversation. While most cats his age were talkative and loudly questioning things, Swallowkit was silent, passive. He had half-closed sleepy eyes, that didn't widen much when he was curious, but did spark with a dark light.

There were three other kits in the nursery: Willowleaves' kits, Reedkit (a gray tom almost the replica of his mother) and Frostkit (a pretty black she-cat with white undersides), as well as an older she-cat named Shrewsong (a solid brown, beautiful, lithe she-cat with soft yellow eyes) who had a tom named Barkkit.

Frostkit was quite playful, and got along well wit her brother. But Reedkit was a whole other story. He hated Swallowkit with some hidden, unhinged fury. Reedkit spat whenever Swallowkit crossed his path, saying there was something "wrong" with the half-clan cat. His mother reprimanded him about it, but it did nothing to change Reedkit's volatile hatred of Swallowkit.

Barkkit, however, was determined to be Swallowkit's friend. When Reedkit stated he wouldn't play with any kit who hung around Swallowkit, Barkkit loudly meowed that Swallowkit had better games anyway (for he did like to play games, but not normal kit games of pretending warrior duties - he liked to play those games only if they had a real piece of prey, or some warriors or apprentices to be 'enemy cats'. He liked to think about things - how the crouch helped a cat spring, and how bigger cats had the advantage of force and smaller cats where quick - why who could do what.)

And though Barkkit got bored at times, he loyally stayed by Swallowkit's side.

He found Swallowkit to be a great listener. Though silent for the most part, he didn't ignore his friend (for that he was). He would listen, and think, perhaps nod at certain parts, or comment softly on others. That was one thing about Swallowkit his friend noticed; as the moon's passed by, and they grew closer, Swallowkit was always very loud or very quiet. He would one day find a right volume for speaking, but he would have trouble with it.

But Barkkit loved his friend like kin, so it didn't bother him the least bit.

Moons passed, and Barkpaw noticed other things.

Swallowpaw liked to TALK.

But he had only found out after a while.

They had grown close, and were happy with each other's company. Whereas Reedpaw grew boastful and constantly wanted admiration, and Frostpaw constantly flirted with other toms, Barkpaw and Swallowpaw had one another - joking, laughing, and enjoying their apprenticeships and lives to the fullest. Swallowpaw grew to trust Barkpaw (which was amazing in itself, since the only other cat he seemed to trust was Rustfur.) And Barkpaw learned something.

Swallowpaw is one heck of a talker.

He could meow on for hours about ideas and concepts and other such various things. He would tell Barkpaw about how he saw the world, this big ball of color and sound and feeling and taste and smell.

How the scent of badger physically hurt him, like driving sharp sticks through his muzzle, but the smell of fox was simply rank and curdled his stomach. How mouse fur was soft but definite, like how he imagined fresh green haygrass to be, and that the clouds looked like they sounded like a sharp whistle through the wind.

How Reedpaw had a voice like gargling gravel but Barkpaw's was like fresh water burbling, and Rustfur's was soft, shifting sand. He saw, and tasted, and heard, and felt differently and he was well aware of it.

And Barkpaw knew he'd never betray this cat, no matter if his future mate hated his friend.

Because Swallowpaw would always come first.

And Swallowpaw felt the same about Barkpaw.

They were finally going to their first gathering together.

Swallowpaw had been twice, and Barkpaw thrice, but they hadn't gone with one another. Barkpaw always left and returned excited, but Swallowpaw was always silent going, and oddly worried-silent returning.

"Do you not like the gatherings?" Barkpaw had asked.

Swallowpaw had snorted softly, then spoke in his soft, velvety mew, "It's not that - I just don't like other cats."

Barkpaw jostled the black and white tom, who stumbled in surprise. "Oh, that's all! I thought you had picked a fight with the Slateclan deputy or something."

Swallowpaw had laughed awkwardly, but looked a little brighter.

They went downriver, Slateclan following behind them (it was easier for them to follow on Bankclan's side.) They saw Meadowclan begin to gather on the opposite bank.

The route took them down to where it grew marshy, and a pond-like area gave way to marsh. There was a dip, where various logs were fallen, only two passing to the solid ground in the middle. The logs had old moss draping and hanging. Trees, old as the moon, tangled around them, and a massive, jagged opening was enough to reveal sky and moon above. It was late Greenleaf, so fireflies were twinkling and flickering around them.

The cats gathered, with the three leaders meeting and speaking before jumping on top of a heap of old, dark gray blocky boulders with dark green moss growing in their crevices.

The three clans gathering milled about and spoke, greeting and teasing one another. Arrogant young toms and flirtatious young she-cats; Haughty new warriors and wizened older ones; elders still capable of making the journey to share their wisdom of age and foolishness of bygone days. There were tabbies - classic, mackerel, and ticked (who were more smoothpelted than striped) - and blackfurs, and solids, and bicolors. No whitepelts, strangely enough.

Barkpaw found a group of apprentices, a mild-mannered black-fured tom from Meadowclan and a soft blueish tabby she-cat from Slateclan. The tom's yellow eyes glowed when Barkpaw and Swallowpaw approached. "Hi Barkpaw! Who's your friend?"

The she-cat, who had looked uninterested before, now had a curious gleam in her amber eyes. "Yeah, who's this?"

"This," Barkpaw meowed proudly, "is my clan mate and best friend, Swallowpaw."

Swallowpaw flicked his eyes up briefly, but dropped them back towards the floor and quietly mewed, "Hello."

The black tom kindly blinked. "Nice to meet you. I think I've seen you a few times."

A silent shrug.

The she-cat's eyes widened suddenly. She then looked really uncomfortable. "Oh, you're, er, the quiet cat. Um..."

"What's up?" The tom asked, and Barkpaw looked beseechingly at them as to what was going on.

The blue tabby leaned close to her friend and muttered quietly, "He's the cat that gray Bankclan apprentice calls 'Swallowvoice' cause he doesn't talk much."

But not quietly enough because Swallowpaw crouched lower and Barkpaw's fur stood on end. His eyes blazed with amber fire and his teeth clicked menacingly as he growled, "I am going to shred Reedpaw!"

The black tom looked offended on their behalf, muttering darkly, "Give him a clawing or two from me - no one should treat their clanmate that way."

Swallowpaw went to veer and stop Barkpaw, looking at his friend sternly. "You know he's not worth it."

Barkpaw, feeling irrational and upset, was about to snap at him to move, when the gathering started by a loud three-tone yowl.

They'd later get back at Reedpaw.

When the gathering came to a close, and they spoke to a few more scattered groups, that's when Barkpaw noticed it.

Though Swallowpaw never met anyone's eyes, either staring at the floor or flickering past their faces to look beyond them, he was most certainly listening.

But he seemed to struggle with what he was hearing, and as a result almost never interjected or had a hard time answering questions.

Seeing his friend floundering, Barkpaw helped where he could; when an inquiry was aimed his friend's way, Barkpaw would jump in and answer for him. Swallowpaw would give Barkpaw a grateful look, and overtime, meet his eyes. They became closer over the moons, and learned to read one another like a scent on the wind.

On the night of their warrior ceremony, when they sat vigil and a cold breeze zipped through, Swallowfall blinked at Barkstripe reassuringly in the quiet.

It was their first battle.

Normally quiet and cautious in every way, Swallowfall wasn't when fighting.

He roared and growled and hissed and spat like ten clans of cats; quick and burning like fire through dry bracken as he fought, slashing a cat here, and jumping on the back of another there. One could almost say he was reckless, unless they could see into his calculating mind.

Luckily Barkstripe knew him well enough he basically could.

Barkstripe was heftier, slamming down like thunder, especially when he followed Swallowfall's lightning.

They were coordinated, well balanced - the ultimate fighting pair.

Of course, that was their take on it. They were only cats after all, and no cat is perfect.

But they were a good team. Always spending their lazy Greenleaf days laughing and joking; acting like kits when Leaf-fall showed them in name; fighting enemies when Leaf-bare heralded storms and hunger.

And even in Newleaf, when they were almost middle-aged, and Swallowfall demanded the kit for his apprentice, Barkstripe merely met Swallowfall's mismatched eyes with his own shining amber, telling him silently that he'd always support him.

'We're best friends.' He wordlessly said. 'And always will be.'

'Always.'

 **END**

* * *

 **((A/N: AU, prompt based, random cat, second person POV.))**

 **002: Collapsing Sky**

You knew that this wasn't a dream.

This was a vision.

The sky roared with the pressure, the tell-tale blue of just after twilight seeming to bend with the pressure, the stars glittering oddly. There was the shudder of electricity in the air and your whiskers stood on end, fur spiking out. You could feel it.

Then, suddenly, a sound like ice shattering but finer and more high pitched, the stars falling dust-like. They drifted down and dissipated, but the sight filled you with terror.

What was this?

And you saw, amidst fleeing shadows of clan cats, and crying of fallen Starclan warriors who were nowhere to be found, a cat, merely an apprentice, with wide green eyes, gazing at the sky in wonder when it should have been fear.

At his forepaws lay a kit, who was stone still, the only movement being a chilly breeze brushing past his fur. Then behind the two of them, another kit, head tilted and the one eye you can see gleaming, and on the other side, a young apprentice, gazing at you, his face devoid of emotion.

You knew then - you knew - that even if these cats weren't the cause of this terribleness, this horrific atrocity before you, that they were at least involved.

Eventually the sky was devoid of stars or blue, and all the cats gone, until everything turned to black. Each of the four cats before you fading out, one by one, until the first apprentice with the wide green eyes was left, his image like the last star winking out before dawn.

And then there was nothing.

You woke up with a vague sense of unease, but no remembrance of your dream. The only thing you knew was that every time you saw the Bankclan medicine apprentice at gatherings, was that his wide, green eyes filled you with unease.

 **END**

* * *

 **000:** _ **Unknown Entry**_

 **((** _Amino A/N: A random intermission from A New Star Fallen. A POV I wasn't planning on showing at all in the fic, which is why Dustpaw is the way he is, but I guess it's okay since this is quite a few moons before hand_ **.))**

"Don't you think, we already knew?"

The voice was punctuated with a lash of a black-furred tail, eyes once as blue as the afternoon sky flashing and their sharp, white teeth bared.

A hefty tom, muted brown in color, lowered his head somberly. His eyes, too, were blank white orbs, though they could still emote easily enough.

Both of their pelts were washed out, like colored water, and shimmered with faint stardust.

"It is . . . rather unfortunate, that events have turned this way. But what are we to do?"

"Unfortunate?! Unfortunate?!" The black tom spat. "I'll give you unfortunate, code-bre-"

"Enough, Beetlestar." A silvery-striped, pale cream she-cat smoothly interjected. Long ago she had amber eyes, but now they were white, but no less fierce. "Let old mistakes be forgotten. What's done is done, as for what comes to pass, we shall see."

Beetlestar stared at her a moment, then pushed past the tom huffily.

"You always were too soft on him, Eaglestar."

Eaglestar merely stated silent.

He turned to her. "I'll never fathom why you made him deputy."

She chuckled humorlessly, her head tilted up and shoulders rolling from it. "And this is coming from you no less! If Beetlestar had not lost all his lives in one go-"

"I am well aware I am a failed medicine cat." He snapped. "I was merely commenting on the fact that besides being a smidgeon of an idiot" - here he emphasized 'smidgeon' as though he meant a word indication much more but dare not offend the estranged she-cat beside him - "he has a temper worse than all of those hotheads in Slateclan."

Her gaze - from which she had been named, Eaglegaze - narrowed, and he could almost see those amber eyes looking at him with irritation.

"Friend," she said, purring in a way that told him to be careful not to push his boundaries. (They weren't much of friends anyways; he highly respected her. Beetlestar, on the other hand, had been a nuisance of a leader and he had only listened as it was his code-bound honor to do so.)

He cleared his throat, and (voice still rasping) quickly changed the subject back to the point on paw.

"So what are your thoughts about the problem on hand?" He asked.

Her gaze slid off of him, turning thoughtful.

"I think . . ." She started, then paused. He tail curled slightly as confusion clouded her thoughts. Her head dropped. "I do not know what to think."

Shock sparked through him. "Then I am the only one?"

Her head snapped up to him. "Then it must be you. You will give the message to this . . . this cat. When the time is right."

Dread trickled through him as she continued.

"You're the only one who can do this, Moleheart. Or everything will end - disastrously."

 **END**

* * *

 **003: circle**

There's a pattern to things. Not that he usually consciously notices.

Wake up, assigned patrol (usually one discussed the day before), rest and eat, share tongues, restlessly walk around and try to find something to do around camp while waiting if Barkstripe is on a different patrol, eat together, go to bed.

But some days this pattern is messed up; disturbed.

Never enough to be _shattered_ , but enough that it makes him uncomfortable deep inside, and agitated.

(There was a time, when he was but a kit-turned-apprentice, that this change of order would tear him so deep that he couldn't function the rest of the day.)

(But, well, he's past that. For the most part.)

He can handle it if a cat in his patrol got switched out; maybe the cat leading fell ill, or a fellow member got hurt. He'll be irritated, for sure, but not as upset or frustrated as other things.

But if a plan was already make - like patrolling the borders from a sunrise to sunset direction, or they were going to hunt somewhere specific - and then those plans where then /changed/.

Then it really begins to affect his day.

Barkstripe won't say anything about it, but he'll most definitely know, as when he comes into camp and Swallowfall is walking a certain length and then jerking suddenly to retrace his steps in the opposite direction for a specific length and then doing it again.

Or when he won't stop rumbling deep in his throat to feel it in his chest; or lashing his tail furiously despite not being /angry/, exactly.

And then when the bad days (days where this routine is interrupted, and he hadn't slept well the night before, and kept missing the prey or getting distracted by the border - and maybe if there's an unexpected Clan meeting. . . )

Well, on the bad days Barkstripe tries to stay with him as closely as possible, brushing up against him in comfort.

Swallowfall doesn't understand why he this way, or if any other Clan cats had ever had this problem, but he was glad to have the support of a friend.

 **END**

* * *

 **((A/N: This was an OCD vent piece thing.))**

 **004: Trails**

When he wakes up he knows it's one of those days.

Swallowfall sits up, blinking, then yawning long and wide, before he finally grooms himself; chest, then shoulders, face an eyes and whiskers, then lastly his tail. It's the same pattern, order, and vaguely the same cadence as each and every morning.

But the feeling grows - an agitation under the fur that just won't settle. Barkstripe is already gone on the Dawn Patrol so there's no one to distract him as his thoughts refuse to quiet, and anxiety begins to spark under his patchwork pelt.

Need to get up and start the day but there's no plans and Sunkit is sick again sowhattodo-

There's no patrols for him; he effectively has the day off, but he just doesn't know /what to do./

He immediately notices his breathing tighten so he focuses on that, holding his breath for four moments, letting it out for four, then holding once again for four, and breathing in for another four. He does it in sets of four as he walks back and forth at and unhalting pace from his den and the center of camp, next to the fresh-kill pile.

(Four because he has four paws, and four is a good number, a soft, almost purple-y pink number (today at least it's that color) and it calms him greatly.)

But his tail-tip still twitched in agitation, because he /must/ to find something to do - he /needs/ to be busy and helping the Clan because a day off would mean he's lazy and doesn't care and he starts to fix the stack of the fresh-kill pile and then moves twigs and debris because someone could trip and get hurt, no they /will/ trip and get hurt, unless he fixes it /now/ and-

"Swallowfall?" Amber eyes blink at him warmly, and Barkstripe has caught him trying to drag /rocks/ off to the side so they're out of the way.

And, momentarily, he feels that fear of judgement. The fear that Barkstripe will criticize what he's doing, or think it's too strange.

But his best friend in the whole wide world merely twitches his whisker in amusement and says, "Do you want some help?"

Want, not need; because he would never force Swallowfall to stop or change, but merely offer his assistance if he'd like.

He shrugs. "Sure." But the brown tabby knows that that's as good an admission as any, since the black-and-white tom tends to get his words mixed up.

So in the end they're both rolling stones that are deemed a hazard, as Barkstripe chats and Swallowfall, feeling a little more verbal today, responds with just as much enthusiasm.

 **END**

* * *

 **((** _Amino A/N: I'm bored so I'm going to do a little AU piece about Dustpaw from A New Star Fallen._

*WARNING: A tad graphic (?).*

For those who read that fic, you know by now that Dustpaw can't communicate with Starclan. He's only ever had - and will only have - one true Starclan dream (he did have a dream about a star falling but that was intuitive and not Starclan-connected).

But if he were to have dreams, he'd only have nightmares

 **.))**

 **AU: The Crackling Cackle Of A Thousand Down**

It wasn't unfamiliar when his paw softly pad on smooth, pale dirt, the color of dry clay in the Greenleaf sun.

It wasn't unusual when he twitched an ear, only to be met with the stifling silence that clamped around him like an old friend.

There was nothing different about the too-pale shadow of trees; their worn, weathered bark as though a million cats had clawed, clawed, clawed at their trunks in agitation.

"Or in fear." That old, wretched voice whispered deep inside him.

He merely sniffed at the thought, whiskers twitching, and eyes half-lidded with indifference and fatigue. It didn't matter to him. This was a dream - yes, a dream that was a harbinger of doom. But nothing different than usual.

He huffed a laugh. Gave a brief shake of his brown and white head.

He pattered on; there was that pale, pale haze similar to smoke wreathed around this place. His eyes flickered around, noting anything unusual.

(There wasn't anything.)

(. . . Yet.)

His eyes were once wide with curiosity; so, so bright and big. It was like he could gaze and see all the secrets of the world.

But not anymore.

Not when he's seen destruction and pain so many times. Doom that would come, maybe not in his time, but eventually.

He stopped, green gaze flickering at movement on one tree's branches. His pupils shrank and vision focused as a shadowy apparition took shape. It was ragged and feathery; face sharp and narrow with beady, soul-stilling eyes gleaming brightly despite their intensely dark coloration.

It was a crow.

Or was it a raven?

. . . no, it was a crow.

(It was a raven.)

(It was irrelevant.)

But all the same it caught his attention. The dream warped until everything was senseless color except for the bird.

He stood still, gazing up and tail swishing instinctively.

(He may have been a medicine cat but he was also still a full-grown cat with hunting instincts like any other.)

The bird opened its beak, seeming to swell slightly as it breathed in, and he watched with bated breath for its call.

But what came forth wasn't a simple caw or trilling click he was expecting.

It was the sound of thousand crows cawing; cackling like some grotesque form of laughter. Like a gleeful caravan who had found a a field of corpses, enough to feed them all.

From one bird, came the sound of a hundred Murders, gleeful for the killed.

And in his mind, within the dream, he saw a bloodied, torn pile of bodies, undistinguishable as their colors all blended into one mass. Tails and paws and heads all askew, with dull, glassy eyes and jaws parted in hapless screams of unending terror.

For the first time in a long while, a dream disturbed him.

And when he woke up, in his nest under dark brambles in the murky forest far, far from the clans he had once called home, he couldn't help but shudder and gulp in air with how fast his heart raced and how much his stomach knotted.

He gazed into the dark and wondered if, not for the first time, it would be better if he couldn't dream at all.

 **END**

* * *

 **((** _A/N: Another Dream!Dustpaw AU. Basically it's a "what if Dustpaw from A New Star Fallen /did/ dream?" And basically that would be very, very bad._

I wanted to try something dark because Rithiam keeps posting these glorious things about their RP, so thank you for giving me the guts to do this in a sense XD.

WARNING: There is going to be blood, possible light gore, and violence as well as dark thinking.

Well let's go I guess. **))**

 **AU2: As blood runs red**

 _ **(Alternate Title)**_

 **And we all fall down**

 _Scrtch-scratch, scrrritch-scrratch, scrriiitch-scratch. . ._

Claws stuck out scratched lightly against gravel, their owner uncaring of their grimy appearance, and to uncaring to sheath them.

The gravel beneath his pawpads isn't as hot as he'd expected; rather it's cool as gray clouds obscure the sky with a mid-Leaf-fall chill. He doesn't really feel the texture, as the pads of his paws are rough from the few moons of tough travel; nothing is left as he walks except for flakes of old blood that chafe between his toes and claws.

"Here," she whispers in his ear, warm breath ghosting the inner fur. He can almost feel her grin curled against it.

The corner of his eye barely flickers as he sees the little tom, eyes so, so sad, bow his head in defeat and morning.

He stays silent and after a moment, moves forward.

The old, wretched voice had died inside him barely days after it emerged, breaking and giving birth to these two apparitions - if that's what they were. The she-cat was a rich, dark and ruddy-red with slightly softer undersides the color of faded wood (you almost couldn't see it unless you looked) and eyes like bright suns in a dark night. She had a soft voice, warm breath. She was the one who spoke, who told him how to rid of the nightmares that plagued him and more lately had begun causing physical pain.

 _'There's a way to make it hurt less.'_

'You don't have to deal with this this way.'

'Don't you want it to stop, Dustpaw?'

He didn't believe her.

. . . But what did he have left?

The other one - the tom - never spoke. He had soft gray fur and an almost white underbelly, a strange red mark on his chest like he'd been hit with one of the Twolegs flying pellet and there was blood dribbling from the wound and staining the fur, but it was just fur. His eyes though we're this bright golden yellow-orange, wide in a way his own hadn't been; instead wide with emotion instead of glee and curiosity. He looked like he was maybe seven moons old.

His eyes really got him though; though this cat never speaks, his eyes say more than the she-cat ever did.

He decided not to meet his eyes, dropping his own now-dulled green ones to the floor.

He calls them Sibilant and Bleeding heart.

She told him to go to the Twoleg place, where the soft cats who knew no pain lived. He knew that that wasn't necessarily true; sure they lived lazier lives, but that didn't mean they had no hardships.

But he'd rather shatter their illusion of safety than solidify the lesson of hardship in some wildcat.

It had taken him a few moments to leave the safe, draping shadow of the surrounding pine forest. He padded out in the mid afternoon, paws and muzzle still a mess from when he had decimated his prey in a hysterical frenzy.

That first, soft pawstep was like a knell finality.

The Wrecking had come.

The first cat he came across was a lithe she-cat, with pale gray fur and sky blue eyes. She turned and chipped happily at him when he first padded up, making no use of his hunter's silence, her expression quickly dropping into something fearful at his disheveled appearance.

She was roughly shoved to the ground, his forepaws pressing on her throat, the claws pricking at the skin.

He almost smiled. Then it dropped away.

His eyes flickered to her frame, which was shivering in fear; then to the narrowed eyes, flattened ears, and partially gaping muzzle were short, jerky breaths came out.

He stepped off of her.

"Go home," he growled in a raspy voice.

He stood there and watched her scrabble away. After a few beats, he turned and left.

 _'Why did you let her go?'_

A pair of eyes watched him. Hopeful.

"Too easy," he muttered after a while.

Those eyes watched him with a different expression.

It wasn't too long until he found a different part of the place where there was a lone cat; this time it was an adult tom, obviously a stray who rooted through garbage and owned this part of twolegplace.

He wasted no time, springing from behind and twisting around to dig his teeth into the pale orange cat's throat, claws also stabbing through flesh and pulling until hot blood welled up beneath them.

"Get off me!" The cat snarled.

But he didn't listen because

 _The vision, the vision; the dream of a mountain of bodies rotting with their flesh ripped away and their ribs exposed to the open air; a cacophony of the death-song as a murder swarmed around the air; a putrid stink rising up and an unholy buzzing of a myriad of flies and he can't take it! Can't take it! Can't take these dreams that haunt his sleep!_

He will no longer wait for these visions.

He'll cause them.

Because all he has left in this pitiful existence is either to end it, or share his pain.

He bit deeper until his mouth ran with red iron and his teeth snagged on taut tendons; and even when the choking sounds had been snuffed out, he reaffirmed his grip and growled as he tore into the now-slack flesh.

He dropped the body, panting. His muzzle felt gross, sticky with blood, and his claws felt slick. He wondered briefly if he should claw at the corpse's chest, so that he could stick his paws in and crack the ribs open to expose it's heart to the sky.

But the eyes continued to watch from the shadows, and as he left the voice crooned that they could return again and do better next time.

So he left the body and cantered back to the forest; followed by a voice and some eyes and a set of bloodied paw prints that were to be left behind.

 **END**

* * *

 **005:** _ **Untitled sneak peek**_

He'd carefully padded through the grass, ears always alert. He really shouldn't have left camp, in all honesty. But he felt the need to train, to prove himself - to get stronger.

He hadn't exactly planned on going into enemy territory. I mean, he did technically get permission from a Meadowclan cat. But she was also an apprentice like him, in the same moon of training although she was a few moons younger.

Not like he didn't look her age, with his frail body. He had just enough height to convince others he was maybe a moon or two older than he said, rather than three and a half.

She nudged him, eyes bright and breathed, "Almost there."

He looked at her, nodding silently. Heh. Maybe his mentor was rubbing off on him. But the thing was, there's more was to respond than just verbally.

 _Wow_.

His mentor really was rubbing off on him.

He was about to speak up and complain as to what's taking so long, but then the dark grass opened up slightly and everything behind him became the dark shadow that was cast by contrasting light rather than that of draping night by the sight that greeted them.

As though the very stars themselves had been knocked askew from the sky, a thousand specs of light drifted and danced languidly, like dust motes in sunlight. But the effect was entirely its own - bright, yellow and casting soft illumination, brought out even more by the hushed, dark backdrop of a night-cast world.

"Isn't is beautiful?" She asked quietly, looking at him.

He was gazing at the little lights, completely awestruck, as he barely breathed, "What are they?"

She had turned to look back at the scene, a small smile lighting up. He barely tilted his head, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"They're called fireflies; they're these little glowing bugs that fly at night. But personally, I think they're something Starclan left for us, to guard our dreams," she said with kitten finality.

And though he wasn't sure if he beloved her, he thought, as he glanced back to the myriad of lights, that he'd let her think he did, even just for this moment.

 **END**.

* * *

 **((A/N: Same thing as above just a slightly different angle.))**

 **005?:** _ **Untitled sneak peek**_

"...What do you think?" Her voice barely a hushed breath, so soft, but it still carries.

His eyes, orange, slowly look around as he turns his head, trying to miss nothing. "There isn't anything here," he insists.

"Hush," she's softer now, the words almost a faint hiss. "We scared them clambering over here; give it a minute. They'll be back."

'Who . . . ?" He wants to ask.

He doesn't, though. He listens. He's patient.

( _Not as much as he likes to think; she glares at him once or twice, give or take, for the inpatient swish of his tail_.)

After some time (much more than a minute, he's sure) he's opening his mouth, ready to meow in annoyance, but then-

 _. . .oh._

He gazes on, eyes wide like an old friend's, an mouth left gaping in astonishment. She watches him with a fond, amused smile, at his awed expression. His orange eyes reflect a green-yellow color, pupils wide and reflecting it all the more. Her own eyes reflect it as she turns back to watch as he does, though her expression is more gleeful than surprised.

The sky above is dark navy velvet, ringed with rough shadows of canopy, but the grasses are a lot in warm yellow-green, neither day-like nor night-similar, as above them float little celestial lights like notes of stardust.

He was right, she supposed; the world could burst into light, despite the dark of night.

 **END**

* * *

 **((** Amino _A/N: Wow. Creative title. I know._

Anyways! This is for Dokusa's contest! I decided to write a piece, which has an added illustration :grinning:.

These are characters from a side fanfic of mine called "A New Star Fallen." These are not the current main characters, but I love them.

The characters are Swallowfall (who is sorta a male version of me when I was younger), Barkstripe (his best friend; yay for platonicships!), an Reedfang (who's sorta a prejudiced jerk but does care for his Clan and has his uses.) It's when they're all apprentices.

Anyways; hope this turns out good! **))**

 **Trick (Partners In Crime Challenge)**

It wasn't often when Barkpaw had a good idea.

And this really wasn't one of those times.

But the truth was, Swallowpaw knew there weren't any good ideas. True, if he didn't agree, Barkpaw wouldn't follow through with /this/ particular plan. But he'd find something else to do. Solo.

And they certainly couldn't have _that_.

It had been nearly four moons since they were both apprenticed; both odd and amber eyes gleaming during the ceremony. Swallowpaw had felt the undercurrents of anxiety and doubt, but the air of determination and look of reassurance from his friend helped ease it almost away.

It was a great day.

Until the day ended and they realized that they shared the den with _Reedpaw_ , now.

The gray tom held disdain for Swallowpaw, who was half-blooded. And the fact that Swallowpaw was a pretty cat, despite odd appearances; and Reedpaw, frankly, was not.

He merely disliked the jovial Barkpaw because of his friendship with Swallowpaw.

So Reedpaw had set from that day forward to harass them; criticize their crouches and attacks; spoil their catch if prey was running well; even going so far as to try and correct how they _groomed_ themselves for Starclan's sake!

Barkpaw had had enough. It was time to do something! It wouldn't be hard to get back at Reedpaw with something relatively harmless.

. . . Except that Swallowpaw wasn't so sure.

"I - I dunno, Barkpaw. Do you _really_ think this is a good idea? I mean, uh, it's just, I'm not so good at lying."

He looked at his friend whose brow was furrowed in uncertainty. 'Did Swallowpaw know how his expressions either were enunciated or lacked?' Barkpaw wondered.

He rolled his own bright, amber-yellow eyes. "Of course I'm sure! Reedpaw is just a big bully - 'sides, we're not gonna _hurt_ him. Not really." He paused, scrunching his nose. "Okay I guess his pride might get hurt, but nothing else! And you won't be _lying_ , Swallowpaw; you'll be _bluffing_. You suck at lying - but not as much as you can't climb trees. Now _that_ you're too clumsy at. Okay?"

Swallowpaw's dual-colored eyes seemed to shine at that. He _really_ didn't like lying. He was told he was too honest at times. "Okay! I'll try my best!"

Barkpaw giggled when his friend puffed out his white and black chest. "Okie dokie; you go deal with Reedpaw; _I've_ got a tree to climb!"

That same black-and-white face fell. "You had it set up already?"

"Of course! Knew you'd say yes; now let's get started."

-/-

It was surprisingly easy, despite Swallowpaw's lack of acting skills.

But perhaps his usual awkwardness made it seem not so unusual.

"Hey, Reedpaw!"

The wiry-furred cat turned in surprise; Swallowpaw rarely spoke to him outright. And never so boldly.

"What do you want two-blood?" He spat.

Swallowpaw seemed to falter internally, and his voice was definitely quieter, but still he went on: "Barkpaw says he wants to train; he's more than half and a half of a half sure he can beat you."

Reedpaw blinked at the estimate; cats didn't have a high concept of numbers and so when by halves of things typically, and Reedpaw was really slow at portions. His haughtiness resumes though and he said, "oh yeah? Well take me to him and I'll kick his little striped tail."

Swallowpaw easily lead the way, glancing to make sure the other apprentice followed. Just as they passed under a tree, Swallowpaw suddenly leapt clear and squeaked 'sorry!'

Reedpaw was confused until he head the ' _crack!_ ' ring loud and clear.

He looked up, eyes widening as he realized too late that he should have moved.

Barkpaw's squeaking laughter rang loud and clear as leaves that had been holding rotting leaf much fell on him, splattering his pelt; the smell was offensive, but could easily come out with a wash in the stream. Barkpaw had been right; the only harm had been Reedpaw's ego.

Plus the need for a thorough wash.

Reedpaw gave a snarl of rage and ran to get the rank scent off, Barkpaw chortling after him. "That's what you get for being a big meanie!"

Swallowpaw had been looking at his paws guiltily when he felt Barkpaw lean into him, wrapping a tail around him. "C'mon cheer up; it was funny, wasn't it?"

"Aren't we big meanies now?" He asked bluntly.

Barkpaw blinked. " 'course not! It's not like we used mouse bile, right?"

"Right. . ."

"And he's not injured, is he?"

". . . no. . ."

He nudged him. "So no harm done. Maybe now he will understand why _we_ don't like his bullying. It was only a little trick after all."

Seeing Barkpaw's wide grin (and a quick glance revealed happy eyes), he couldn't help but agree. "Yeah. You're right."

"Good! Now let's get back to camp for mid-meal; I heard some dove got caught today! And that. . ."

Swallowpaw nodded, not all that interested in the going-ons of others, but feeling warm at his friend's happiness. Maybe they _could_ do another one of these tricks in the future.

Maybe.

 **END**


End file.
